


Alone?

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Creepy Fluff, Darkest Night 2019, Inappropriate Humor, Other, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-24 08:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: “What does a poor farmhand like myself need to do to get laid in these parts?” William asked the scarecrow rhetorically before taking a big swig from his moonshine flask. “I hate it here; I should never have come. What was I thinking, taking this job in the middle of nowhere?”





	Alone?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ilthit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/gifts).

The scarecrow in the middle of the cornfield didn’t actually work to scare away crows. William was sure of it. See, thing is, he’d had a lot of time on his hands lately to explore this pet theory of his, and now he was pretty certain of his conclusions.

Separately, he’d also become convinced that crows were capable of recognizing individual people. They kept their distance from William himself since he had a tendency to throw stones, but they _really _took off and made themselves scarce whenever the big bad boss was around. The big bad boss was the one who carried the loaded shotgun strapped to his back, you see.

So, the scarecrow was mostly ornamental, like a seasonal Halloween decoration left out all year long. It stayed staked right where it was in the field because the big bad boss, a sixth-generation farmer, believed in tradition when it came to the family land. If the scarecrow had any use whatsoever, it functioned mainly as a silently sympathetic ear for William to talk into.

(Not that it had ears. Or, for that matter, much more than the suggestion of a face painted onto the straw-stuffed burlap head.)

Mostly, he liked to complain.

“What does a poor farmhand like myself need to do to get laid in these parts?” William asked the scarecrow rhetorically before taking a big swig from his moonshine flask. “I hate it here; I should never have come. What was I thinking, taking this job in the middle of nowhere?”

A gust of wind made the scarecrow seem to tilt its head in sympathy.

“You’re sweet, you know that?” William pressed a chaste kiss to the spot below the scarecrow’s painted right eye that he supposed passed for a cheek. Then he nuzzled the scarecrow’s shoulder and rested his head lightly against it.

“The other guys, you know,” he continued, “they nail the sheep when they’re bored and the girls in town are busy. I wish I was into sheep. Or girls, hell. Can you believe I was looking at the stud stallion they brought in last week and actually wondered if . . .” William sighed and rubbed his eyes. They were watery and tearing up; he told himself it was just the alcohol fumes.

“I’m lonely, and I need dick. There you have it, short and sweet; that’s my story. I’m so desperate I’d even settle for just friends.” He took another swig of moonshine—serious stuff that was making him feel lightheaded and woozy. He sat down heavily onto the ground, right there at the scarecrow’s stuffed feet, leaning his shoulder on the scarecrow’s wooden post and gazing up at it.

William took yet another swig from his flask; he knew he was drinking too much too quickly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Booze was suicide for cowards. He eased himself down flat on the ground. From this new angle, framed by the bright, late afternoon sunlight, the scarecrow loomed like a giant over William. He closed his eyes against the light. “You’d be my friend, right?” he asked.

He waited. There was no reply. Of course there wasn’t.

“I think I’m gonna take a little nap,” William declared. “You don’t mind waking me up before the big bad boss comes around, do you . . . ?”

When William woke up some unspecified time later after sunset, stiff and awkward on the chilly ground, he noticed three things, in the following order:

One, he was horribly hungover.

Two, he was unaccountably itchy all over.

Three, he was itchy because he was being poked by bits of straw everywhere, and he was being poked by bits of straw everywhere because his clothes had disappeared and there was a scarecrow spooning with him.

William emitted an involuntary shriek—there was something most unlike straw . . . and much more like a thick length of wood . . . pressed between his buttocks—! The scarecrow muttered something that was probably meant to be soothing and just embraced him all the tighter.


End file.
